


Tell Me More, Tell Me More (Like Does He Have A Car)

by CracklPop



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Beer, Hand Jobs, M/M, Speeding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:41:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23416885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CracklPop/pseuds/CracklPop
Summary: On a hot summer day, Sheriff Noah Stilinski pulls over Chris Argent for speeding.
Relationships: Chris Argent/Sheriff Stilinski
Comments: 20
Kudos: 77
Collections: Secret Steter BFFs





	Tell Me More, Tell Me More (Like Does He Have A Car)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [EternalEclipse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EternalEclipse/gifts).



> Dear EternalEclipse,
> 
> Happy Steter BFF Exchange! I had a great time writing this and very much hope you enjoy reading it. ❤️

Noah Stilinski sat in the slightly overheated cabin of his cruiser, partially concealed by the rise of the road, and stared out at the wildflowers dotting the hill next to him. He was parked on a quiet two-lane and he didn’t really expect to see any traffic, despite the radar gun in his hand and the vague announcement he’d given his deputy that he would be out catching speeders that afternoon. 

It was just summer break; most of the town was on vacation. Stiles was busy with an ambitious summer internship in Virginia and most of their communication took the form of randomly timed text messages. The other kids had scattered, too—even Scott was out of town for once. Melissa said he’d gone to France to see Isaac compete in some kind of baking competition. 

Noah leaned his head back against the seat and watched lazy, heavy-bodied bumble bees make their way from bloom to bloom as a warm breeze curled around the interior of the car. It smelled of honeysuckle and damp earth and made Noah think of being a kid, when he would spend his summer months looking for new adventures on his bicycle or playing intense, take-no-prisoners games of war with his friends. 

It was different when you got older, he reflected. There was always so much to do. He’d spent his twenties as part of a couple, then as a father. There was no lack of activity when you had a child at home. Especially one as bright and unpredictable as Stiles. 

Now, with Stiles’ room darkened and only half-heartedly dusted, Noah was seized by periodic bouts of restlessness. For all the time he’d spent praying—to god or the universe or whatever moon deity the werewolves seemed to believe in—for Stiles to slow down and stop leaping into trouble…Noah admitted to himself that some days he felt at loose ends without the omnipresent adrenaline rush of Stiles’ high-school years. 

He caught the sound of an engine approaching from the other side of the hill and sat up straighter, readying the radar. A boxy, black sports sedan with an enormous rear spoiler crested the rise a few seconds later, going at least twenty miles over the speed limit. 

Noah flashed his lights and the other car slowed immediately, pulling over to the side of the road while Noah brought his own vehicle behind. He took his time running the plates of the car, considering the blue-and-white roundel on the trunk of the original M3. He’d thought when he first heard the engine that it was some kid, bored on break, but not only was the 1980s-vintage vehicle in front of him an unlikely choice for a teenager, the license plate was registered to one Christopher Maxime Argent. 

The driver had turned the car off, and once Noah got over to the window, the only sounds were the buzzing of bees and the gentle ticking of the engine as it cooled. He leaned down to rest his elbows against the edge of the rolled-down window, aware that his behavior wasn’t entirely professional but too curious to care. 

“What happened to your truck?” he asked.

Christopher Argent looked up at him, squinting against the bright summer sun. 

“Always wanted one of these.” He shrugged. “No one to stop me now, I guess.”

Noah started to nod then froze, grimacing in sudden pain. 

“What’s wrong?” Chris demanded, hands going to the glove box. 

“Stop,” Noah ground out. “It’s nothing. Just…sometimes when I move my neck in a certain way it hurts. Like I twisted something.” He straightened from his uncomfortable bend toward the car and gingerly prodded at the burning tendon, trying to tilt his head to relieve the tension. 

“Here, can I—” Chris opened the door slowly, eyebrows raised in question. 

“Yeah, sure. It’s not regulation, but—”

“I know exactly how this feels,” said Chris sympathetically. “One day you’re twenty-five and nothing can hurt you, and it feels like the next day you’re pushing fifty and one wrong move means a trip to the hospital.” 

He stood right next to Noah and brought his hands up, one to steady Noah’s shoulder and the other to rest against the sore spot. With surprising gentleness, Chris massaged the side of Noah’s neck until the muscles relaxed and Noah sagged for a second in relief. 

“Thanks,” Noah murmured, realizing then how close the other man was. “I guess I’ll just give you a warning this time. Slow down.” 

Chris’ chuckle was warm and unthreatening and Noah found himself propping a hip against the old car’s hood to watch the way Chris’ pale-blue eyes crinkled at the corners. Catching Chris’ wince, Noah smiled and took a step away. 

“It’s the original paint,” Chris explained sheepishly. 

“I get it,” Noah agreed. “I was sixteen when these cars were new. I thought the only thing hotter was my homeroom partner, Caroline Geary.”

“Same age,” Chris said. “One of my dad’s cousins visited us that summer. He seemed so worldly, but he couldn’t have been more than twenty-one. He and my dad took me out on my first job hunting that year and it was….” Something bleak and tired surfaced on Chris’ face before it was again submerged. “Well, it doesn’t matter now. Anyway. Marius—it felt like he was on my side instead of my dad’s. And he had this brand-new M3. White with a red interior. My dad hated it, said it was too flashy and people would remember it. Marius didn’t care, though. I knew how to hot-wire a car, how to follow someone through traffic, how to survive getting hit…but Marius taught me how to rebuild an engine and how to enjoy a drive with no purpose but the pleasure of handling the car.”

Chris stopped talking abruptly and Noah was fascinated by the faint flush that worked its way across Chris’ cheeks. 

“Sounds like a good guy,” Noah offered after a minute. 

“Not really,” Chris replied shortly, then sighed. “It’s complicated. Marius later helped Kate and my…Gerard kill an entire family of wolves in Texas.”

“The older I get, the less straightforward I find people’s motives,” said Noah. 

They both quieted for a few moments, Noah’s gaze on the way the long grass quivered in the breeze and how the asphalt of the road shimmered where it met the horizon. 

“How much longer are you on duty?” Chris asked eventually. 

“I could be done pretty soon,” Noah answered. He wasn’t even scheduled to be at work that day, but he’d had a hard time filling the hours lately. 

“Why don’t you come back to the house. Have a drink maybe,” Chris suggested. 

“Are you trying to bribe an officer of the law?” Noah asked, shocking himself with the teasing edge to his voice. 

Chris chuckled again before ducking back into the car to start the engine. 

“I’ll see you there,” he said, then took off at a sedate pace. 

Noah ambled back to his cruiser with a smile that he couldn’t seem to control. He followed Chris’ shining little sports sedan back to the peaceful neighborhood where Chris had moved when he returned from France several years ago. Tall, leafy trees formed intermittent canopies over streets of neatly kept, older homes. 

Christopher’s modest-looking house was white and yellow with a large, flowering California lilac in the front yard. The house was much smaller than the grandiose, new-construction home he’d shared with Victoria, and much more relaxed than the high-end apartment he’d rented with Allison. Noah parked around back and watched Chris close the garage door on his adolescent dream car. 

They walked companionably through the backyard and into the cool, immaculate kitchen. Chris flipped on the lights and rummaged through the refrigerator, emerging seconds later with cold bottles of beer. 

In silent accord, the two men sat at the table and started to drink. 

“How’s Stiles?” Chris asked when he’d finished about half the bottle. 

“Happy. Busy.” Noah fiddled with the label, using a fingernail and the condensation on the bottle to peel it back bit by bit. “Thanks for asking.”

“He’s a good kid. Got a smart head on his shoulders,” Chris responded, taking another long swallow. 

Noah nodded in agreement and thanks, finishing his own drink more quickly than he would usually, feeling restless again and not sure he should be around Christopher Argent of all people when he had an itch under his skin. 

“Want to see the home gym?” Chris asked. 

Noah hesitated. He didn’t want to be alone at his own house, but he also wasn’t certain what Chris was thinking. The silence stretched out and Noah looked over to see Chris’ features close up, his eyes becoming distant. 

“Yeah. Yes. Let’s check out the home gym,” Noah decided, picking up both his and Chris’ bottles and dumping them in the sink. 

Chris brightened a little and something in Noah settled, content. The gym space was in a finished, walk-out basement, and the quality of the equipment was superior to the Beacon County Sheriff’s Department training facility by a long shot. Noah blinked, taking it all in. There were typical workout staples—a stationary bike, an ergometer, many, many sets of free weights—but there was also a set of punching bags, a padded sparring area, and what looked to be a shooting range for both bullets and arrows.

“Wow,” said Noah. “You take your physical fitness seriously.”

“I’ve had some extra time on my hands,” Chris admitted. 

“You’re not still—” Noah broke off and ended up making a shooting gesture with a finger gun. Then felt his face warm, because surely there was a less childish way of asking after Chris’ hunting habits. 

“Nah,” Chris told him with what sounded like amusement. “I want to keep in practice is all. You never know when the kids might need me. And getting older means I have to stay on top of things. I threw my back out a couple of months ago. Three days on painkillers.”

“You should have said something,” Noah said without thinking. “I mean…it’s no trouble for me to swing by with meals if you need help.”

“Thank you,” said Chris. 

“I’ve never used one of these.” Noah crossed to the sparring area and picked up one of the bo staffs leaning against the wall. 

“I could give you a quick lesson,” Chris said, and Noah thought he saw the icy blue of Chris’ eyes heat for a second before the other man turned away. 

“Sure.” Noah held the staff in front of his body and looked at Chris expectantly. 

“Here.” Chris set his own weapon down and stood behind Noah, his hard chest brushing against the back of Noah’s uniform as he adjusted Noah’s arms, then moved farther forward to adjust Noah’s grip on the smooth wood. “Like this.”

“Thanks,” Noah said, tone much breathier than he could remember sounding. He cleared his throat. 

“Let’s begin,” Chris said. He picked up the other bo staff and Noah’s back felt too cool in his absence. 

Chris led them through the rudiments of combat, his motions contained and his hits careful. Noah, unused to being physically out of his element, nevertheless enjoyed himself enormously. 

Chris’ taps and points of contact became more playful and less didactic, and soon he was enjoying himself by poking Noah unexpectedly. Instead of irritation and embarrassment, Noah was startled by his own uninhibited joy. He laughed until tears gathered in the corners of his eyes. It was like being a boy again, free of the seriousness of a dying wife and a precocious son and the weight of upholding the law. 

He kept smiling when Chris drew closer and knocked Noah’s weapon from his hands, pressing the staff in his own hands gently to Noah’s abdomen. 

“Do you yield?” Chris asked, grinning. 

“Yes,” said Noah on another laugh. Chris set his bo staff down but didn’t move back. Noah’s breath caught and he felt the way he had as a kid on his bike, poised at the top of a steep hill. Nothing but clean pavement and a wicked drop before him. His stomach fluttered and his eyes slipped half shut. 

Chris’ lips when they met his were soft but certain, coaxing Noah’s mouth open. The wet heat of Chris’ tongue slipped in and Noah met it, kissing back eagerly. It had been a long time. There’d been lovers since Claudia, but not many, and none since Stiles had gone to college. The last time Noah had kissed another man, he’d been in college himself. 

He threw himself into the press of Chris’ lips, feeling weightless and buoyant, speeding down the hill with nothing to stop him. Chris nipped at Noah’s lower lip then soothed the small hurt with the tip of his tongue. Noah wrapped his arms around Chris’ broad back and let Chris—who apparently spent the majority of his waking hours working out—support some of his weight. 

Chris nibbled at Noah’s upper lip and Noah moaned, only registering after they’d started moving that Chris was maneuvering them onto the pile of mats in the corner. Noah felt Chris' strong fingers unbuttoning the tan shirt of his uniform, then Chris peeled it off and ran his hands along Noah’s chest beneath his thin undershirt. 

Noah, not to be outdone, tugged Chris’ henley over his head then started to work on the fastenings of Chris’ jeans. He rubbed his palm against Chris’ hard cock then lost focus when Chris pinched a nipple and sucked Noah’s tongue at the same time. 

“Fuck,” Noah muttered, clenching his fingers on Chris’ biceps. 

“Maybe not this time,” Chris whispered back, trailing a hand down Noah’s chest to his belt. “Something to look forward to, though, hmm?” 

Noah’s agreement was lost in the loud groan he gave when Chris freed him from his pants and took him in hand. Chris shifted so Noah could get his grip back on Chris’ long, hard cock and then they were both panting. Chris pressed closer and brought them together, wrapping his fingers around Noah’s and thrusting upward. 

The exquisite friction made Noah’s thoughts short out for a second and he wasn’t sure what kind of undignified noise he made. Chris’ answering chuckle was breathless, and as they settled into a mutually satisfying rhythm, he put his forehead against Noah’s in what felt like benediction. 

“Oh god…moon…goddess…universe,” Noah got out, his body tightening as he grew closer and closer. 

Chris huffed out a hoarse laugh and twisted his hand, spreading more fluid over their cocks and sending Noah over the edge. A few seconds later, Chris joined him, spilling white plumes over their joined hands with a groan of satisfaction. 

They both collapsed onto the padding of the mats, sweat and come spattered over their stomachs and remaining clothing. Noah hadn’t felt so debauched since his twenties. He loved it. 

When their breathing had evened out and the fluids began to dry, Chris and Noah stumbled into the basement’s large, open shower together, taking turns exploring the marks life had left on their bodies. 

“Bullet from a suspect in a drug bust. He turned the gun on himself after he hit me. Couldn’t save him,” Noah said when Chris brushed his fingers against a puckered scar high on his shoulder. 

“Stabbed by one of my dad’s hunter friends when I disobeyed her order to shoot a banshee who hadn’t done anything wrong,” Chris said when Noah traced a jagged scar across his ribs. 

They stood under the flow of the water once clean. Noah watched droplets slide in narrow rivers down the contours of Chris’ skin, admiring the solidity of his body.

“The longer I live, the more I appreciate the rain,” said Chris, reaching a finger out to follow the line of Noah’s neck to his shoulder. 

“I used to look at every situation as a problem to be solved,” Noah said in reply, tilting his head back to rest against the shower wall. “But not everything needs a solution.”

Chris turned the water off and they dried themselves leisurely, Chris providing jeans and t-shirts. The clothing didn’t fit too badly, and Noah enjoyed the scent of Chris’ clean laundry. 

Instead of awkwardness, Noah felt peace. He and Chris wandered upstairs, where they each had another beer. Chris put out a bowl of pretzels and Noah absentmindedly ate a few, talking with Chris about possible changes the sheriff’s department planned to make in weaponry. 

When afternoon darkened to evening, Chris clasped Noah’s hand loosely, his skin dry and warm. 

“Want to go for a drive?” Chris asked, raising his eyebrows mischievously. “Maybe we could park for a bit up on that ridge overlooking the city?” 

“Keep it under the speed limit,” Noah replied, “and you’ve got a date.”


End file.
